


Christmas Colored Girls

by this_too_shall_pass



Category: Homestuck
Genre: All Your Faves Are Trans, F/F, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, all the dancestors except kankri get blazed, get over it, pale dammeu, rufioh sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 19:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_too_shall_pass/pseuds/this_too_shall_pass
Summary: meulin just got broken up with. damn.for a friend on discord.
Relationships: Meulin Leijon/Damara Megido
Kudos: 4





	Christmas Colored Girls

Your name is MEULIN LEIJON and your new moirail, Horuss, just broke up with you. Apparently, your efforts to encourage his romantic life were ‘stifling’, and ‘not what moirails were for’ like you don’t know that already. You just couldn’t stand seeing him with Rufioh of all people, who destroys your ships like they don’t mean anything. You swear, for as nice and pale-shippable as he seems, he’s really kind of a massive tool.

And Horuss and Mituna had potential, too! You weren’t just seeing things, you weren’t. Your whole classpect when you played The Game was centered around understanding people’s hearts, and everyone still dismisses you as a crazy shipper girl. You just want people to be happy, what’s so wrong with that?

You flop back onto your loungeplank, wishing you could cry, but one of the side effects of the creepy ghost blank pupils is that suddenly your sightglobes don’t tear up, no matter how bad you feel. You could pull up Trollflix, but honestly, you don’t think you have the energy to make a full shipping chart for a 90-minute movie right now. Usually, you’d be into it, but just. Not tonight.

Instead, you grab the throwsheet from over the loungeplank and decide to try and take a nap. Sleep always came easy to you when you still had your hearing, but ever since Kurloz every dream has been haunted by yells and screams that make you glad to be deaf in the waking world. Even that might be preferable to the crushing greyness that threatens to overtake you, though. For some reason, sopor only ever makes things worse for you, a trait that your fellow ex-players find odd.

Your pitiful attempts at escaping your new reality fail, however, when the door behind you slides open. Opening your blank eyes, you flip over to see Damara walk in, joint in hand.

Unfortunately, you have to admit you don’t know Damara very well. You two were close enough before Rufioh made her… the way she is now, but you don’t think you’ve talked since. You’ve smoked with her before, but you’ve smoked with everyone except Kankri, so that doesn’t count. 

When you were alive, she was spending all her time trying to derail your progress and ruin The Game for you, and since Meenah killed you all, everyone kind of split off into their own little groups. Damz, however, never really split off with anyone. To your knowledge, she hasn’t had any friends since she died. You know from back when she was still sweet that she knows sign language, though, which is more than most of your friends ever did for you.

You raise a weak hand to her out of courtesy, hoping she’ll ignore you like she does most people, but no such luck. Her eyes widen minutely to see you in such a state, and she drops down onto the chair next to you, putting her joint in her mouth so she can talk to you.

“I am not used to seeing you upset. Have you been hurt?” she signs fluently, her fingers only barely stuttering as she recalls the lack of grammar involved in sign. You don’t know how she talks with her voice, you imagine it’s pretty ridiculous though. Damz has always had fun with pranks, and knowing people can’t understand her sometimes leads her to say wild things for her own amusement.

You can’t say that sometimes you don’t sign something wildly different from what you say though, just for kicks, so you don’t begrudge her. 

“Thank mew, Damz, but I’m only hurt on the inside. Horuss broke up with me,” you lift your hands out from under your throwsheet to sign, your arm awkwardly sandwiched between the loungeplank and your shoulder. Her face darkens at the mention of your now ex-moirail’s name, and you can’t say you blame her. Part of the reason you pitied Horuss so much was that you wanted to help him grow into someone who recognizes the hurt he’d caused others. 

“Good. You deserve better than him. He can fuck himself with his bad hoofbeast porn paintings,” The sign for porn usually makes you giggle, but right now all you can manage is a forced smile. You’d thought the hoofbeast thing was endearing, and you’d thought it similar to your love of all things meowbeast, but you can see how his interest was always a little less… innocent than yours. You appreciate the sentiment though, and you tell her as much. Instead of responding, though, she just offers you her joint, plucking it from her mouth and thrusting it in your direction.

Well, damn. You won’t turn down a high, especially right now. You sit up, the throwsheet pooling around your knees, and accept the joint.

One of the perks of being dead is that you don’t need to breathe anymore, so you take a drag, inhaling it deeply without fear of hacking a lung up. The taste is familiar, comforting in a more palpable way than the sadness cocoon you’d enveloped yourself in. You hold it in for longer than you ever could’ve when you were alive, and when you exhale you manage a smoke ring to make troll Beyonce proud. 

You start to hand it back to Damara, but she puts her hands up disarmingly. 

“You need that more than me, Meulin. Besides,” she smirks evilly, “it’s not like Cronus has been using them.” Maybe it’s the joint, but that gets a real smile out of you. You don’t know why you haven’t been talking to Damara more. Even if she’s different, she isn’t bad. Just hurt. It’s almost pitiable. Almost.

You keep taking hits until time runs like wax and bends around your horns. At some point, Damara joined you on the loungeplank, and now you sit with your head on her lap, signing wildly as she nods along sympathetically, periodically swapping the now almost stubbed-out joint between you two.

“I just wanted him to be happy! You know Rufioh isn’t into him, I don’t even know if he’s capable of being into people! I don’t ship him flush with anyone, Horuss knew that! I’m pretty sure even Kankri knows you can’t get anywhere with Rufioh, that’s why he always talks about aconcupiscent people all the time! He wants him to come out and say it already! Ughh, Damz, why can’t your ex-matesprit suck less?”

Damara nods sagely.

“Fuck men, Meulin. They don’t know anything good for them.” You nod enthusiastically. You would exclude Kurloz, but so often your interactions with him feel distant and hazy, more snatches of signs and funny memes than any real conversations, so you aren’t even sure you know him well enough anymore to exclude him.

“You’re so right Damz. Maybe instead of shipping myself with the boys, I should try mew all instead!” It’s not that you’ve intentionally excluded the other female players from your dating pool, it’s just that sometimes you can’t help feeling jealous of them. They were born into those bodies, and you had to work for yours to look like it should. 

“I feel the same. It is hard, isn’t it? Do feel out of place with the very group you feel you are a part of?” Oh no, were you signing out loud? You must be really high. Also, did Damara just say that she’s like you? But she’s so pretty and soft, and all the parts of you that you haven’t been able to change jump off your body like a confirmed ship in a sea of hypotheticals.

Damara runs her hand through your hair, and you feel yourself relax, a purr slowly building at the back of your throat. Catnip always makes you tired, and the repetitive motion of Damz stroking your hair is more than enough to lure you closer to the edge of dreams. Distantly, you feel a kiss pressed to one of your horns, feel the warmth of rustblood psionics lift you into a vat of sopor, but by the time Damara leaves, her Trollian handle left scribbled on a piece of paper as if you could ever forget it, you’re already gone to the world.


End file.
